The Five Times Roy Mustang Has Proposed
by Jayne Foyer
Summary: One woman, one question, and the way she's broken his heart four times.


**The Five Times Roy Mustang Has Proposed**

i.

The house is in shambles; rain is leaking through the roof, and there's no heating to be spoken of. Roy finds himself, seventeen years old, standing before the front door, willing himself to leave. It's time to go. He has everything packed. He's going to defy what his teacher says, and join the military. He wants to protect his country. That is the most honorable thing anyone could do.

He doesn't care what his teacher thinks anymore; he knows the old man disapproves. And he knows that the man is not going to share his secrets, and that means that if Roy has any chance of becoming a state alchemist, he has to work on his own technique. And that can't be done in the Hawkeye household. Too many distractions.

Too…many…

"Mister Mustang?"

He turns around. Riza's standing there. He didn't even hear her light footsteps. She stares at him, concerned, her dark eyes looking liquid in the dim light. She has a thick robe around herself, but she's still clutching her body for warmth. He hates this house. He hates her father. He hates that she has to suffer. He wants her to be happy. But most importantly, he wants her out of this house.

She asks, "What are you doing?"

He breaks her gaze and looks at the floor. "It's time for me to leave, Riza."

She looks alarmed. "What?"

"I've done all the learning I can under your father. I need to go now."

"You don't – just because you're done learning doesn't mean to have to leave. You can stay, he likes you here, I like you here. It's okay, it's not like he's going to force you out of the house." She tries to laugh.

Roy shakes his head. "No," he says. "You don't understand. I need to go." He looked at her. "I've decided to join the military."

Her face is uncomprehending. "The…military?"

"I have a duty to my country. I want to serve."

"But…my father says…"

"Your father isn't always right, Riza."

Silence.

Then she says, "Will you visit?"

"If I can."

She nods. She is still hugging herself tightly. "Okay," she mutters. "Go on."

He blinks. He turns back, opens the door to the cold night air. The sound of rain rushes over them like waves. He looks into the night. He looks up at the sky, at the stars. He turns back to Riza.

"You should marry me."

She looks up, startled. "What?"

"You should marry me," he repeats.

There is something in her eyes that he can't quite define. She looks nervous; she looks scared. But there is happiness there, too. There is excitement. Shyly, she asks, "…Why?"

Immediately he replies, "The military provides housing for families, I can get you out of here. I can make you safe."

"I am safe."

"No, you're not. He's unstable, Riza. I know it's hard to believe because he's your father, but believe me. He's way too far gone. You shouldn't stay here anymore, especially not in a house like this one, that's falling apart."

She looks around the house, to the pots lying on the floor, collecting water. Roy has been forbidden by his teacher to use alchemy to fix the leaks. He has spent all day on the roof, trying to fix them as best he could. But things never stayed fixed for long. She thinks about how cold she feels, and the way her father barely moves anymore.

She says, "He needs me, Roy."

Before she even finishes her statement, he is shaking his head. "He doesn't. I need you. You need me. It's that simple, that's why people get married in the first place."

She looks him in the eye. She hopes he could tell how badly she wanted to go with him. "No," she says softly. "I can't go with you. Not now. I'm sorry."

He blinks, then nods. "All right. It's your choice. I'll go, then."

He turns and walks into the night, into the pouring rain. He is planning to go home for a few nights, to spend time with his foster mother before enlisting. She would want to see him, before he became a soldier. Riza Hawkeye shuts the door behind him.

Five steps into the night, he stops. He turns around to face the closed door. A revelation hits him, a staggering blow that sends him reeling. He thinks of Riza. He thinks of the way they spent time together, the way they have come to know each other so well. The way he's never touched her. The way she'd stayed completely appropriate, all the time. Her eyes. Her smile. The look on her face when she saw him.

Rain plasters his hair to his freezing cold head. He faces the closed door and he says out loud, "I love you, Riza."

Nothing.

He pauses, waiting for something he knew would not come.

He turns and walks away.

ii.

She's kneeling in front of him. She's not facing him; her head is hanging, her arms curled in front of her chest to keep the skin there from being burnt. Although he is precise enough now that she needn't have worried. He would be pacing, but he's trying to focus, to get this over with. She wants this. She asked him to. Do it. He needs to do it.

The sounds of her breathing are heavy in the silent home. She's scared. She knows it's going to hurt, and so does he, but neither of them have ever been burnt badly so they don't know how much. He will never know how much. But from the way she's breathing and the way her eyes are closed and relaxed, it looks like he should hurry up and do it because she's ready. But that's a lie. She's in no rush; she doesn't want the pain to come. But it must come. She knows that.

He holds out a single gloved hand. How beautiful is her back, the dark red lines on her skin creating crisscrossing patterns of alchemic symbols and clues that led to the discovery of the technique that would now create the fire to destroy it. These things have a way of going in circles.

His hand is shaking. He wants to reach out and touch her unblemished back one more time. One more time as it's beautiful and whole. One more time before he hurts her so badly she will never forgive him. She will leave him forever.

His heart is seized with an iron grip and he's left silently gasping for air. She will leave him. He couldn't bear it if she left, not now. Not after what they'd seen together, and what she'd helped him accomplish. He doesn't need _somebody_, he needs _her._ Forever. He needs her forever.

The words spill out of his mouth before he can consider the consequences.

"Will you marry me?"

The sounds of her breathing stop.

She turns slightly, peering at Roy with her dark eyes. There is something in those eyes that was different now. It was hate, but she doesn't hate him. She could never hate him. She hates herself. She hates her memories. She hates the ink underneath the skin of her back.

She mutters hopelessly, "Why?"

Roy thinks she is asking for a reason because she has no reasons for anything anymore and he feels pity for her. "Because I want you by my side," he says. "For the rest of my life. So that I can protect you. So that we can protect each other. We've come this far with each other, might as well go the rest of the way."

She blinks. She turns away. She says, "Mister Mustang, I know you don't want to do this. But please stop stalling. It's only scaring me more."

The grip on his heart tightens again and her rejection stings more than just his ego. "Of course," he says. "Take a deep breath, Riza."

She does so. Before she can wait for too long, he snaps his fingers, and the noise that comes from her mouth is so painful that he douses it instantly; she collapses, he dives forward to hold her, tenderly leaning her forward. She is panting now. There are tears in her eyes, and already sweat on her face. He tries not to look at her burning skin, but he knew he has too. They are prepared; cool water and a small washcloth lie in a tub beside them. He presses the cloth against her skin. She's crying, and wheezing slightly, breathing in and out. The scars will never fade.

iii.

The danger makes is what makes it exciting.

He kisses her, his mouth pressing deeply against hers, then trailing down her chin, her neck, her chest. Her hands, already working at her own clothes and at his, desperate to be naked and vulnerable and whole with each other, desperate for him to touch her and desperate to return his kisses, the ones that are becoming more like bites because in this moment, she feels _his_, and the possessiveness, the strength, the power he has is overwhelming. There's passion in the way he moves, in the way they stumble through the dark, empty house, searching for the bedroom, falling onto the bed, scrambling to discard the rest of their clothes.

The danger is that if someone finds out, there will be an inquiry. At his rank, there could be a court martial. For her, dishonorable discharge. That was probably what she deserved at this point, anyway. But she knew that she couldn't be discharged, because he needed her. Most of the time he needed her there to keep him in check, to watch his back and to put a gun to his head should the need ever arise. But on nights like tonight, beautiful nights like tonight when the loneliness was eating away at their insides, the despair slowly corroding what little sanity they had left, he needed _her_, he needed her body and her kisses and her mouth and her lips and her skin and her sweat and her passion. He needed her to keep him sane; she could never deny him a single night. A single night that turned into two, then three, then they were making a habit of it and people would start noticing soon so they would have to give it up before it became obvious.

The knowledge that rumors would fly, that if they were caught they would be punished, the idea that this was forbidden, illegal, even. It made him kiss her harder. It made her touch him more tenderly. It made their nights feel like so much more than just nights, and it made them feel like giggling teenagers, instead of rational adults, adults who did the right thing, adults who were smart and respected and had no respect for each other's bodies, not when it came to this. Adults who ravaged each other senseless. Adults who kissed until it was impossible to kiss anymore. Adults who could lie in the same bed together for hours and never sleep.

It is nearing morning. They have spent far too long doing what they loved best. They are hot, they are sweaty, and they know that their nights are coming to an end soon, because rumors are already spreading. Being so close to the end has pushed the both of them. Motivated them to take advantage of every single second.

He wraps his arms around her, pressing his face into his shoulder. Her chest rises up and down with each heavy breath she takes. He can hear her heart beating. He loves every part of her. He has been devoted to her since before he became aware of how much he loved her. Nothing has changed since they were teenagers. Nothing, except perhaps now they could kiss without blushing scarlet, they could touch without fear of a strict father's intervention.

Well. That's not true. An intervention there may be; the military has laws against this sort of fraternization. The same laws that had made the first few nights exhilarating now terrified him. No. They couldn't take her away from him. They wouldn't. He would never let them.

But there was an easy solution to this. He knows there was. And as he holds her, his heartbeat almost completely in sync with hers, he knows that he wants every night to be like this for the rest of his life. He wants to hold her and never let her go. Never.

He presses his lips against her ear and whispers, "Marry me."

Silence. She shifts slightly, almost squirming away from his grip. She looks at him right in the face. She has a sad, tired look on her face. She leans forward and kisses him on the lips. Then she opens her sad, honest eyes wide and asks, "Now why would I do that, sir?"

It stings, but he doesn't let her know. "I want this," he says, "to never end. I want every night to be like this. I don't want to be afraid of losing you anymore. I don't want anyone to be able to take this away from us. We deserve it, Riza. For all that we've done, we deserve this. Just one tiny piece of happiness. Please. Just do it."

She looks at him for a long while. Then she closes her eyes and settles down into the bed, prepared now to fall asleep. Before she does so, she murmurs, "Remember you have paperwork to finish by Monday, sir," and he watches her go to sleep and he wants to cry.

iv.

She's lying down in a makeshift hospital. He can't see her, but he's holding her hand and she can see him. At this point, he's been told that he can regain his vision. He's been told that his dream is not lost, not yet. He knows that there is still hope. Silently, she shares the victory with her, she who's been waiting so long for this, the quiet acknowledgement that this journey to the top might just pay off.

They're almost alone, but not quite. Curtains are pulled around her bed, but on the other side medics scurry and patients are treated and voices carry. So they don't speak. They just allow themselves to be together, holding hands as he sits and she lies. She closes her eyes, imagining the darkness that he must be in. His eyes are open, but blank. Empty. As much as she is comforted by the fact that they will soon shine and be full of life again, she can't help but cringe at the pure gray film that seems to be coating them, blocking his vision.

He says, "Lieutenant Hawkeye?"

"Yes sir," she replies instantly, eyes still closed.

"Thank you," he says.

Her breath catches in her throat. She coughs a little. "Gratitude is unnecessary, sir. I was only doing my job."

"I appreciate that," he says. "Have I ever told you this, Lieutenant? I appreciate what you do for me. You do more than just your job."

Silence between them. It's all right, though. Neither of them minds the silence. Sometimes words just can't say enough.

But he thinks they can. He thinks that this must be the ending, the happily ever after, he thinks that it's now or never. He thinks that after these next few days, they'll go back to a Colonel and a Lieutenant, coworkers and nothing more, except for a string of passionate nights years ago already. He thinks these next few words, which have failed so many times, will work today because today is the ending of the struggle. Today is the beginning of a new era. And he sure as hell can't see why they can't enter it together.

He says, "Riza."

Silence. Her first name. Oh, her first name. It sounds sweet in his mouth.

He says, "I think it's time we get married."

More silence. A long silence. Longer than it's ever been. And then she opens her eyes and looks at him, even though he's still staring dumbly forwards, unable to see her gaze on him. Faintly, she asks, "Why now?"

"Because it's the end. Because everybody knows. Because if I almost lose you like this one more time and you _don't_ have my ring on your finger, that's going to be the end of my world. Riza. Just say yes. Just do this for me. Please, God, Riza. Just say yes."

And then she asks softly, "Are you never going to figure out the right answer, Colonel?"

And then she doesn't say anything else, leaving him to puzzle over her query for a long, long time.

v.

Years have passed. Not so many that they are bitter or resentful or angry. Not so many that their bodies are bent over, not so many that they are old. But they are no longer young. It has been long enough that routine has returned, routine is comfort and to be within each others' presence is taken for granted because they are never anywhere else.

And it's when he's sitting in his new office that it happens. He's given himself a moment to admire. A moment of self-love, one could say. A moment full of simple pride, because he's finally there and his policies are realities and everything in his entire life has been leading directly up to this point. She walks in. She drops some papers on his desk, says something about a meeting soon, mentions that he has important work to do and that he can't waste time with silly reflections like these.

She begins to leave his office, to go back to the phone and her notes and organizing his every moment. And then he says, "Hawkeye, wait."

She stands by the door. Does she know what's coming? Maybe. It's been a long time. Maybe she doesn't think he has the strength to try again. She glances back at him.

He scrutinizes his desk for a moment, engrossed in the thin grains of wood running through the piece of furniture. And then he looks up at her. And then he says, quietly, calmly, "I would really like it if you'd be my wife."

And she doesn't even pause this time. Almost as if by rote, she instantly replies with the question he's prepared for this time. Staring straight into his eyes, he asks him, "Why?"

And he replies simply, "Because I love you."

She holds his gaze. She judges him. She stands on the ledge of a cliff, with the potential to choose to retreat back to safety or throw herself off the edge, into the unknown, that terrifying abyss. But instead of walking away, she just smiles.

She says, "Finally." She says, "Of course I'll marry you. I'm not about to deny a direct request of the Fuhrer, sir."

And she leaves the office.

But he knows that she will come back.

And when he slides the ring onto her finger, he stops cursing her stubbornness and realizes that she's been ready since the first time he ever asked her.

She's been waiting for him to finally realize why they were meant to be.

* * *

Roy you dummy. You should've just told her the truth the first time.


End file.
